


Oblivion

by Starlight_Fireon



Series: Oblivion [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Angels and Demons, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fate & Destiny, Found Family, Gen, It's the end of the world, Prophetic Dreams, Reincarnation, Sometimes Self Care is Trying to Fight God
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-07 15:04:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21460012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starlight_Fireon/pseuds/Starlight_Fireon
Summary: There is a start to everything. This is the start to Oblivion, Salvation, the end of the world.
Relationships: Asteria/Michael, Mia Daniels/Lucifer, Past Mia Daniels/Michael
Series: Oblivion [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1546984
Kudos: 1





	1. It Starts Like This

It starts like this, an old man sits in a dark room. The only light in it coming from blood red candles sitting on an old hardwood desk. It’s littered with papers and inkwells. There is an old leather-bound book sits open in front of the man; he’s furiously writing in it. He’s writing like he’s going to run out of time. The book looks like the others that are piled up around him, littering the spaces where there isn’t paper strewn about or empty inkwells.

He’s been writing for a long time, the old man’s hands are calloused and ink-stained. The man pauses for a moment, hesitating before diving right back into his writing. It takes him a few minutes before the book that’s before him is finished. He looks at the last page, his eyes turn downwards as he sighs. Gently picking up the book and placing it onto the pile to his left; before he quickly pulls one from his right and goes back to writing. 

The man writes, and he writes. Almost as if he’s running out of time._ He is in a way… running out of time. Running out of time. He has only so much time to write the story before something happens. It needs to be written, the world needs to know. TImes running out, sands falling from the hourglass that’s held over his head and he knows it._

A wind blows through the room, causing loose papers that are strewn across the desk to rattle and fall of the desk. The flames on the candles flicker lightly before another gust of wind blows into the room and snuffs them out. Leaving the room in utter darkness. 

A woman’s toneless voice speaks from behind the man, “Metatron. You write like you are going to run out of time,” the woman pauses and laughs softly “it’s been years. I’ve forgotten when you start writing you don’t stop. You’re writing about _her_ aren’t you?” She walks over to Metatron, poking her head over his shoulder, her hair falling around her face. 

Metatron sighs, brushing the woman’s hair out of his face, “You already know what I’m writing, what I am doing. Why must you show up here? Why must you bother me?” He tersely asked. Not looking up from his writing, the darkness not affecting him. The sound of his pen scratching across the paper continued as if he wasn’t interrupted by _Atlas_ of all people. 

Atlas laughs, her laughter echoing throughout the room, grating on Metatron’s last nerves. 

“I suppose you are right. Most of the time you are. I was bored and wanted to see where you disappeared to, although I already knew. It wasn’t hard to figure out, not with how everything ended. It was obvious either you or Cain would disappear off and write it.” 

“It’s my job, after all, I am the scribe. It’s my job to transcribe what happened. I… I forgot what my job was actually for. But I remember, I remember now. Thanks to her. Writing this… writing this is the least I can do for her. For them.” Metatron spoke, low and decisively. 

He stops writing for a moment, his pen hesitates above the paper, “I couldn’t write a way out for them, but… I can give them this. I can give them this, they once said that they wouldn’t die until the last person speaks their name. So I’m making them immortal the only way I know how to. The only way I can.” 

Atlas pulls back, looking at the back of Metatron’s head. Her eyes narrow for a moment, “Tell me how it starts.” 

Metatron laughs, he throws his head back as his airy laughter echoed throughout the room, “You already know how it starts and how it ends. Why do you want me to tell you how it starts?” 

“Maybe I want to hear how you’ve written it? Is that such an odd request?”

“Coming from you, yes. I know you Atlas or have you forgotten that?”

“No. I haven’t,” Atlas sighs, she looks at Metatron, the darkness obscuring his face heavily, “But that does not mean I do not want to hear how it starts from your mouth. I may know how it starts, but that doesn’t mean I know the truth. You would, and do know it better than I.”

Metatron turned around, facing Atlas. He stared at her for a moment, thinking. An air of hesitation settled over him as he thought, he let out a soft sigh before he turned to his left. Carefully picking up a book that was on top of his desk, pushed to the very back. Wrapped in white fabric.

Metatron pulls out a light brown leather-bound book. It has an intricate floral design on the cover, of carnations and forget-me-notts. There was an inlay of precious metal, silver, and gold. There was a thick, ratty piece of black leather wrapped around the bookkeeping it closed. He unwraps it carefully, careful not to damage the already fraying leather anymore. Opening the book to heavily yellowed pages. A cluster of primroses lay pressed in the front pages. 

Metatron carefully flips the pages, to the first one with writing. Flipping past pictures and small mementos, “It took me a while to get this. I had to convince him to let me borrow it and transcribe what was in it. He didn’t want to let it out of his sight, understandable. I was only able to get it by promising if I transcribed it then no one else would need to borrow it from him. I need to return it soon… he keeps contacting me asking if I'm through or not.” Metatron says softly, his fingertips barely touching the pages as he read it. 

He held the book delicately, holding it like a devout pastor would hold a bible. With just as much reverence as they would as well. Even though it was just an old journal with sloppy writing in it. 

“He’s gotten cautious.”

“Or maybe it’s because it’s one of the few things left of her. Have you forgotten?”

“No…”

“Good.”

Metatron looked at Atlas, thinly-veiled hatred, anger hiding behind his eyes, “You know how it starts, how it ends. Everything in between, but do you know the truth? I suppose… if you did you wouldn’t be asking me to tell you it would you? No, you wouldn’t. You were, are looking at it from the point of an outsider looking in. Not how it was lived. You want to know the truth, here it is. Here’s how the story starts.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revelation starts with roaring thunder

It’s storming outside, rain pelting the outside of the house. Slamming hard against the siding. The wind slamming tree branches against the backside of the house. It was dangerous, deadly outside. The radio said there was a tornado warning. The storm was causing the lights inside the house to flicker, teetering on the edge of causing a power outage. Lighting flashes outside, lighting up the cloud covered sky. It was eerily beautiful, in an uncontrolled and dangerous type of beauty. Beautiful from far away but dangerous up close. 

Each time lightning struck outside it lit up the house, illuminating the inside in bright white light. Leaving the faint smell of ozone behind. 

Mia sat by the window, ignoring each time her father told her to get away from it, that it was far too dangerous for her to sit by the window. The wind might throw something against the window and shatter it, covering her in shards of glass. She didn’t listen, she stayed in the old chair by the window and watched as the storm raged outside. The chill of the rain seeping through the cracks of the windowsill causing her to wrap and orange blanket tightly around her. 

The storm was calling her. Whispering her name in a honeyed voice. Begging for her to come out and let it embrace her. The honeyed voice of the storm was whispering in her head, begging her to step outside. To let the rain, lightning, and thunder consume her. To infuse her very being with electricity. 

Mia sat there as the storm raged outside; swearing that this has all happened before. This storm, her sitting by the window watching it rage dangerously outside. The sound of the clock on the wall ticking by when the lightning and thunder stopped outside. A cloying smell of smoke hanging thickly in the air, there one moment and gone the next.

There was a cold sense of deja vu creeping up Mia’s back, reminding her pointedly that this has happened before. Not the storm, but something coming with it a danger; one that she should know all too well. It was demanding her attention, forcing her to remember what has happened before.  
She remembers how it goes; it has happened before. The storm, the smell, the feeling of history repeating itself, the ever-so faint memory of how it ends. She goes out into the storm. Letting the rain and lightning consume her. The rain soaking her, the lightning electrifying her very being. Making every hair on her body stand on edge in anticipation. 

So she does, Mia stands up. Letting the blanket fall behind her onto the chair. It gliding off her as she steps away from the chair. Quickly walking to the back door. Looking around to see if her parents were downstairs as she went, they would stop her if she tried to go out in this weather. Even though it wouldn’t hurt her. She didn’t notice them as she went, hoping that they were both upstairs. Preoccupied with the storm to notice she was gone.

_Where were they before? When this happened before.<_

Mia tried to remember, but couldn’t… the feeling of they weren’t here before came over her. The saddening realization that the last time this happened she was alone overcame her. Driving a spike of sadness into her chest, choking her. 

_“This could all be a dream…” _She thought, hesitating before opening the door. Trying to ignore the feeling of this isn’t a dream thrumming in the back of her head. 

Mia took a hesitant step outside; rain and wind pelting her as she stepped outside. Whipping at her clothes, soaking them immediately. Freezing her. Mia hesitated before continuing forward, turning back to look inside her home. But there was nothing there, the door inside vanished. Leaving Mia alone in a field and rain pelted her. Fear clawed its way up Mia’s throat, suffocating her as she stuttered for breath. Panicking as she looked around for her home. 

The storm broke Mia out of her panic, lightning striking right in front of her, the blinding arc of electricity caused Mia to reel backward. Falling onto the ground. Covering her in mud. Another blinding strike of electricity struck in front of her again. Demanding her attention. Forcing her to pay attention to it once again. 

Mia stood up shakily, pushing herself up off the ground. Mud clinging uncomfortably to her skin even with the rain. She shook as she stood up, her hands shaking heavily as she looked back. Her home is still gone. She took a step forward. Standing where the lightning struck, the smell of ozone heavy in the air. Lightning struck again a few feet ahead of her. Then again a few feet ahead of that. 

The storm is demanding her attention, telling her to follow the strikes of lightning. The static electricity lingering in the air had the hair on Mia’s body stand on edge. She followed the strikes until she had caught up to it, watching as the lightning struck directly in front of her. An arc of pure electricity sparking off in front of her, singeing the grass even in the heavy downpour, leaving the heavy smell of ozone and burning in the air. It was blinding, thrilling, terrifying all at the same time. And Mia takes a step, another agonizingly hesitant step into the place where the lightning struck; as another arc of electricity strikes in front of her. Singeing the ground in front of her like before. 

Mia took another step forward, less hesitant than before. Following the lightning as it set a path forward. It was leading her towards something in the distance. It was difficult to make out in between the heavy rain and constant blinding strikes of lightning.

The lightning eventually stopped striking in front of her. The heavy smell of ozone and burning earth still hung heavily in the air. All but suffocating Mia where she stood. The rain was seemingly unable to cover the smell. The rain stung as it hit Mia’s uncovered skin.

Mia continued forward, her steps far less hesitant than they were when she started. Before the door to her disappeared and the repeated strikes of lightning struck in front of her. Leaving every hair on her body standing on edge. Continuing forward until she stood in front of an old building. Rain obscuring most of it. The part of the building she could see was of the front door and the front wall.

The paint was heavily chipped of both the wall and doors. The doors were heavily rotted, looking like if you put any amount of pressure on them they could crumble into disgusting molded sludge. The heavy metal handles were heavily rusted, from years in the elements; yet they were still set in place. Not yet falling off. If the front of the building was this heavily decayed the rest was just surely as bad. It was a miracle that it still stood. 

The only building out this far is either old churches or abandoned farmhouses and most farmhouses did not have two front doors or had painted outer walls. She stood there in front of the church. Staring at the paint chipped door, her eyes unfocused as she stared at it. As she stood there a voice called out to her. Coming from behind the doors, inside the building. 

A woman’s voice called out for her from inside, soft, delicate.

_“Mia…”_

Mia hovered her hand over the handle, hesitant to open the door. She blinked the daze out of her eyes, and looked around, attempting to see if there was anyone around who could have called her name. She saw no one.

_“Mia… Mia…”_

The voice was another deja vu moment. Every fiber of Mia’s body told her she knew that voice. She’s heard it before, a lot. It’s a familiar, warm feeling. Yet… foreign. The voice felt like home, safety… yet… yet it caused Mia dread. Fearing the owner of the voice behind the door. She wanted to flee, to run as far as she could from the door, from the voice. Away from the voice. A dangerous, deadly enigma wrapped up in a delicate lyrical voice.

A nagging voice in the back of her head screamed for her to run. To get out of there and back home. To hide so the owner of the voice could never find her again. Again? _Again._

Mia took a moment, steadying herself. Taking a deep breath of the cold air before wrapping her hand around the handle of the door. The sludge made from the rain and rust uncomfortably slick on her hand. 

She pushed the door open, leaning her weight into it slightly. Afraid almost that the door would crumble if she put any more pressure into it. Surprisingly the door opened easily, without any resistance.


	3. Forgive me, I don't remember who you are.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mia's see's a face that's _ familiar _

Mia expected to smell rot or decay as she entered the building, not lavender and roses. As she walked into the building it looked nothing like how it did on the outside. Everything in it was pristine as the day it was built. It was a church, the pews lining the path to where the preacher would have the sermon confirmed it. 

The pews were made out a dark wood, they had red cushions in neigh pristine condition. Everything in the building was in perfect condition, not a single hint of wear or weathering on anything. It was odd… 

Mia looked around for the voice that called her name, beckoned her to come inside and saw no one. As she looked around her eyes fell on a stained glass piece that sat in the back of the church. Demanding the attention of everyone who attended services there. It was an oddly intricate and expensive looking piece for being so far off the beaten path. The piece was deserving of an old cathedral, not a beaten-down church in the backwater south. 

It was of Death? Mia thought it was anyway. It was of a black-cloaked figure walking through a field of winged bodies. They were looking into the distance, staring past the horizon. Rivers of blood running through the piece, coating the ground red. The winged figures had weapons sticking out of their bodies, their wings. It was a war scene. Bloody and terrible. 

A woman’s soft voice spoke from the shadows, the same one that called Mia’s name to come in, “The trouble I will no doubt bring upon myself is immense… but I owe you this. My canary.”

The woman’s voice spoke, slowly stepping out of the shadows; the darkness clinging to them. Giving them form. They looked like the figure from the stained glass window, Death wrapped in shadows and darkness. The darkness eventually settled, forming a figure. A tall dark woman, with elegant and delicate features. She had warm welcoming eyes and a gentle smile. Long dark braided hair with strands of silver braided into it. Flecks of silver dotted her skin forming constellations on her exposed skin. She wore black clothing, a long black overcoat, and dark pants. 

She smiled at Mia, slowly walking towards her. She looked at Mia like she was an old friend she hadn’t seen in a while, one she cared for deeply. 

“Do… Do I know you?” Mia stuttered out, her eyes never leaving the woman’s face, the smile still ever-present. She was shrinking back ever so slowly, taking a hesitant step back. 

Mia already knew the answer to her question. Yes and no. 

“Yes… and no. You knew me once, but not now. Although you will know me again,” She paused for a moment, sadness flashing across her face for a moment before quickly disappearing just as quickly, “Little Canary, my name’s Nira.”

Mia stopped stepping back and looked at Nira. She still had a soft, sad smile on her face as she looked at her, “My name’s Mia… but you already knew that… didn’t you?”

“Yes and no.”

Mia laughed, “Our lives are complicated.”

“They are my songbird,” Nira spoke, stepping forward and caressing Mia’s cheek. Gazing down at her delicately. 

Mia finally noticed as Nira got closer that her smile didn’t reach her eyes which were ever-shifting stars in the night sky. That her face was doused in sadness and regret as she looked down at her. 

“It’s time. I’m sorry. You must start to walk the path to Salvation, Oblivion. Your choice Mia. Just as it always has been, but you already knew that” She said, holding Mia’s face carefully, brushing a tear that had fallen from Mia’s face. 

Nira leaned down and pressed s soft kiss to Mia’s forehead, “Don’t be afraid. The finale won’t hurt. It never does,” She pauses smiling brightly at Mia, this time it reaches her eyes. It’s warm and so very comforting. “The end won’t hurt, I swear on everything I am. You must go, wake. I will see you soon enough My Canary.” 

Nira pulls back, taking a few steps back before reaching out and placing her finger on Mia’s forehead… 

Mia laughs, interrupting Nira, her laughter sounds broken, “I was supposed to have more time Nira. He promised me more time,” She seethed through her laughter, anger rising in her chest. She stares at Nira, forcing a smile. 

Nira had forgotten how young she was, not even twenty. Just a child. 

_“She’s always been a child. Never getting a chance for more than that.”_ Nira thought, gazing at Mia. Moving to brush the tears that now fall freely down her face away. Tucking a few strands of her short black hair behind her ear. Mia leans into her touch, taking the comfort Nira so readily offered her without hesitation, even though she doesn’t know her._She does know her. Mia swears she does. _Sighing as Mia leans into her hand. 

“You must go… I’m sorry,” Nira says, pulling her hand away. Moving to touch Mia’s forehead and as she does Mia crumbles onto the floor. Dropping to the floor with a heavy thud. Her body slowly turning into ash, climbing up her body before the ash collapses in on itself. Blowing away without wind. Leaving Nira standing there alone in the church, silently staring at the place Mia once stood. Looking down at the floor, idly focusing on the runner that laid on the floor. 

She takes a breath and turns, facing the stained glass window behind her. Watching as the scene changes; from one of her walking through a field of death. To a man falling from the sky, wings burning against the sky, against his back. Sparks of fire trailing behind him like stars in the night sky. He was reaching up towards where he fell from, trying to grasp on thin air to stop himself from falling further. A pained look etched upon his face. 

She laughs, “If I believed in anything I would take that as a sign. But I don’t, I know it’s you Atlas.”

Nira watches as the glass changed again, shift to another scene. A man with wings, a lance haphazardly held in his arms, pointed down. A grim look of determination painted across his face, he looks down at another man. Blood coating both of them, the man’s lance is poised over the other’s chest. Ready to strike and end him. The man on the ground looks up pleading at the man with wings, his hands outstretched towards him. Silently begging for him to stop.

“I’m always one for remembering the past, but not this,” Nira said before leaving. Turning around and walking out of the doors. The church turning to ruin. The inside turning to rot, the stained glass shattering and crumbling from the window. The pews rapidly rotting turning to piles of putrid wood. Rain fell heavily through the broken roof, soaking everything inside. The church died, turned to death and decay Nira left.


	4. It Felt Real

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _ It was all a dream? _

Mia woke up in a chair, sweating heavily, her hair sticking to her face as she gasped for air. She looked wildly around, realizing she was in the old brown chair by the window at home. The storm that raged outside all but stopped, it was just lightly raining outside. 

Mia quickly looked at her hand, the one she used to open the door to that church to see if that slimy rust was on it. It was clean… like she just had washed it a few seconds ago. She looked at the clothes she wore, seeing if they were wet, she was soaking before; but they were bone dry. Everything was a dream. It wasn’t real. 

But… that woman, Nira felt real. She felt so real. Nira felt real, Mia could still feel where she held her face, her warm kiss on her forehead. But it was just a dream, a weird and oddly comforting dream, but a dream nonetheless. 

Mia got up out of her chair, the orange knit blanket falling to the ground as she stood up and walked to the kitchen; where she heard her parents moving around. Cooking something. From the sound of her mother’s voice, Mia guessed she was making stew. Chiding her father for almost putting too much garlic in by accident.

It was comforting to hear their voices after that dream, nightmare? Who knew?

She walked in and watched as her mother stood over a pot on the stove, put in the ingredients dad handed to her. The kitchen table and counters which were normally spotless were covered in vegetables and cutting boards. Seasonings are laid out next to her mother, within arm’s reach if she needed them. Her father mulled over the table, cutting potatoes and carrots. Music played faintly over the radio, Mia watched as her mother idly danced along with it as she cooked. Her father as well. 

“Mia! You’re awake! Come help me chop vegetables,” Her father called out to her, shaking Mia out of her reprieve. Her father smiled at her adoringly, motioning with his hand, the knife pointed down for her to come over and help. 

Her mother turned around and looked at her, smiling at Mia, “Good afternoon. You fell asleep in the chair again last night and I and your dad didn’t want to wake so we left you.” She said before turning back around going back to stirring the pot.

Mia walked over to her dad, taking the knife from his hands as he slid around. Kissing the top of her head before walking to the sink and grabbing another knife, “You could have gotten another knife, not stolen mine.” Her father laughed.

“But where is the fun in that dad,” Mia said, finishing chopping the potatoes her dad was cutting before she came in. He had already peeled and chopped most of them. Only four were left on the table, “Is this all of them or is there more?”


End file.
